I Need
by Inked Out on Speed
Summary: They thought Wufei was the stable one. Shounen ai SLASH S'not all angst, I promise
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Apparently my muse has a thing for Fei... So, enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Gundam Wing. I don't even own so much as a Gundam plushie. But I will soon. Hopefully.

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A slight fluttering of leaves against the panes of my window sends shivers down my spine. Death is quiet. And cold… so very, incredibly cold. I can't feel my fingertips anymore. There are small creeks and rivers tracing their respective ways down my arms, across my wrists, down to the very tips of my fingers, where they form miniature waterfalls, pouring and dripping delicate splatters onto the floor of my room. Wood floor. Huh. The stains probably won't come out. Why so cold? It was like when we were hiking through the Alps. I think the very marrow of my bones was frozen then. It was snowing so hard…

"_You know that you've left immaturity behind when you never get the urge to throw a snowball."_

"_Maxwell…" I could only guess what that meant…_

"_Yes Fei?" Maxwell sounded incredibly innocent. My instincts told me to run for cover as fast as possible in my frozen state. I turned around so I could see the braided baka. SMACK. An icy projectile hit me square in the face, slipping in frigid globs down my unprotected chin to rest at the collar of my gortex jacket. _

"_Dammit Maxwell!" As cold as I was, fire filled my belly and coursed through my veins. He was so going to pay for that. I hate snow. Leaping at him from my position, which was farther up the mountain side than his, I sailed through the air and caught him around the waist, sending us both sprawling into a snowdrift. _

"_Augh…Fei! Heh heh heh …Wufei! Get off. Fei! Get up Fei…Open your eyes! Wufei!"_

"I hate snow. I hate the cold. I hate fucking snowballs." I open my eyes as these words seem to drift out of my mouth without my instigating it. I can barely make out the figure beside me. " … Maxwell?" Why can't I make my voice louder than a whisper?

"You're an idiot…you're such a fucking asshole Fei." The braided pilot actually manages to blend the two emotions of anger and worry so well, I can't tell which one is predominant. At least I feel warmer now, or maybe I'm just numb. I still can't feel my fingers, or my hands. None of my body feels connected to me right now. It's like floating. Heh heh heh… floating on a cloud… "Wufei. Stay with me Fei. The ambulance is coming; can you stay with me that long?" Why does he sound so panicked? I'm enjoying myself. Floating off… serenity.

* * *

Zen. This must be what complete Zen is like. Black. No need for justice, no need for Nataku. Just Peace.

* * *

"Why would he do it? Why would he do such a thing? I mean, with all due respect, he seemed to be the most stable of all of you." Une paced around her office, eyes to the floor, seemingly dodging objects by will of her subconscious alone. "Did he say anything at all to any of you?"

Trowa remained silent, thoughtful, as always. He, in a way, agreed that Wufei did seem the most stable, but then again… all that obsessing over justice. Maybe the lack of fair play in the present post-war colonies drove him to it.

Heero was analyzing all of Wufei's past behaviour, searching for something he had said or done, that might suggest a wish to end his life. He thought that Chang didn't seem any more or any less partial to his self-destruct button than anyone else.

Quatre worried quietly. Not just about Wufei, but about Duo as well. The manic teen hadn't communicated at all, save for the bare necessities over the last three days while his roommate had been in the medical nether land, suspended between "critical" and "grave" condition. He hadn't eaten or slept either, by the looks of him. His already slender frame could now be defined as "wasted."

The object of Quatre's current concern didn't appear to be present. Though he sat on the couch at Trowa's side, his eyes relayed that his mind was currently elsewhere. And it was elsewhere. More specifically, it was at the hospital, at the bedside of his friend, who was currently hovering between life and death. Why? Duo spent more time with Wufei than anyone, so why hadn't he noticed anything different about him? The braided boy had spent the last three days and nights going over every tone of every syllable of every word that Fei had said to him over the last three months. There must be some clue, something hidden in his mind. Why couldn't he find it? It was like trying to put together a puzzle without most of the pieces. And he was probably the only one who would be able to find those pieces should Fei… should Fei not wake up to tell them himself.

Duo was brought out of his thoughts when the phone rang. Une strode over to her desk, grabbed it, and very nearly shouted, "Une here!" She waited with an expressionless, professional look on her face while someone explained something that seemed rather complicated; "Yes… yes, I understand," She blinked, "…he said what?...Alright, I'll tell them … Yes … Thank you … Goodbye." She looked at the four young men sitting on her couch. They all either glared at her, or regarded her with restrained eagerness. "It would appear that Chang won't be getting out of bed anytime soon, but his chances of getting out of it at all have gotten a great deal better." Three of the pilots relaxed. One of them, one whom Une had thought wasn't paying the slightest amount of attention to the present, just frowned.

"What else?" Duo's voice was hoarse, probably from lack of use.

Une sighed. "The wounds weren't self-inflicted. Our forensic technician was able to examine Chang's arms when they changed the bandages today. He said that both cuts were of equal depth, and both arms had severed tendons. Even if Chang had cut one of his wrists, he couldn't have cut the other one without the use of the first."

Everyone turned to Duo. His face was the colour of ash. His expression was dazed, his voice barely audible as he said, "No one was in our apartment but me."

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**Heh...well... how was it?**


	2. Toffee

**A/N:** Well.. Fei's pretty much off camera this round. Sorry for the short chapter, but the idea hit, and I wanted to "Vomit it onto paper" as my English teacher would say. I figure I might be able to get away with it as long as I update pretty frequently? -smiles prettily-

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Gundam.

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Warm air, laced with the light scent of lavender, wafted around Wufei as he stood, contemplating, in a lively meadow. Gold-green stalks of grass swayed with the breeze, as if they were dancing; here and there, patches of purple stood out, lavender gypsies dancing in the sun. The particular spot where Wufei stood had clover and a type of daisy-forget-me-not hybrid growing on it, forming a type of defined area, almost circular in shape, about twenty metres in diameter. 

Birds chirped, swooping here and there, catching bugs. Wufei reached out to touch one, beckoning it closer with one hand. As he reached to it, his palm upturned, the sunlight that filled the happy meadow touched upon his upraised wrist, lighting, contrasting, defining the angry edges of torn, defiled skin and muscle. The wound was fetid, oozing pus in a bloody goop that ran down Wufei's arms, dripping onto the ground at his feet. The bird to which he called circled over his head, screeching, and dove at his arm. Seizing a piece of flesh and tearing it from Wufei's arm, the bird landed and hopped away, to devour its prize. The stoic teenager watched it calmly, dropping his injured, dead limb to rest at his side. The bird, originally yellow, began to darken as it finished off its meal. It grew, as well, easily doubling its small size. Nearly black, it cocked its head and let fly a guttural cry, now a raven, and a death bringer.

XXXXXX

All of a sudden aware of his surroundings, Duo lets his memories catch up to the rest of his senses. He's in his bed. In his apartment. Trowa and Heero are in the room next to his. He waits for the sound of Wufei's even, slow breathing in the bed next to his own. Fei must have an amazing lung capacity; he can hold his breath for so long. When he sleeps, his inhalations are so slow and far between that sometimes Duo has to wait for upwards of two minutes before he hears one.

Duo's sensitive ears pick up a slight murmuring that comes from the living room, Trowa and Heero's appointed sleeping area. Why are Trowa and Heero here? Duo's mind jumps to the lack of sound in his own room: why isn't Wufei here? He slips a hand out from beneath his quilt, a gift from Fei, who always complained that Duo always had the thermostat cranked at night, and taps the bedside lamp. As light filters through the lamp cover, it illuminates Wufei's neatly made bed with a soft glow. It illuminates the high, white ceiling, and the white walls. It illuminates the clean, pine floor, and exposes the dark, wrong, and ugly smear on it at the foot of Wufei's bed. The room still smells of bleach, from the futile attempts made at removing the blood from the wood. His eyes sting and Duo blinks them, feeling a trickle of tears escape from each. Quatre hadn't wanted him to sleep in here, he remembers. They couldn't stop him in the end, he had told them he was sleeping in his own room, or he wasn't sleeping at all. He didn't want to sleep in the living room, or in one of Quatre's many guest rooms. He had wanted privacy.

Duo couldn't remember the last time he had cried. Maybe when Sister Helen and Father Maxwell had died. It was a long time ago, but the tearless time since had been all but made up for in the last five days. Duo keeps expecting to run out of tears one of these nights, but they just keep on coming. They ran down his cheeks, off his chin, small torrents of despair. The pain had almost numbed, but when he had learned that Wufei hadn't attempted suicide, it was replaced. A new kind of guilt had blossomed: he should have heard whoever had come into his home and assaulted his friend.

Something much, much more dangerous had also formed in him.

His tears now are ones of rage. Primal rage, dangerously out of control psychotic fury.

He wants to kill the fucker who has invaded his almost normal life, and damn to hell anyone who gets in his way. Fuck the Law, screw human rights. He will stab the filthy git himself. Part of Duo is very, very scared of this rage, but the rest of him embraces it, and will sit back and let it take over.

Shinigami grins from the depths of Duo's eyes and wraps his fist around Duo's heart and sharpens his scythe, hiding in the shadows, waiting to crawl out of the dark.

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You know who makes my day? Reveiwers. I love you guys, and thank you for taking the time to inflate my ego.

**S. Maldiva, SkittleGoddess, Kyokorain, Vitanie Tora, KokushibyouOni, SanzoGirl, one-hep-cat, Moonlit Eyes, and Smoogee. **

You guys rock my hippy socks.


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